I have sticky attention. It’s like double-sided tape. I choose something to attach it to but the other side stays peeled and primed and ready to grab any bits of fluff and litter that pass my way.
I enjoyed the novel I just read, but a fleeting detail has stuck to my tape and now I can’t shake it. A little red monkey drawn onto a lightbulb in a boarding school. Everywhere I go that monkey is in my mind. He has nothing to say for himself but still he lingers.
I wonder what keeps him here. Is it his colour? or the unlikely place he hides? is it that he remained nameless? or that when we meet him he is the only friend of the girl far from home? or perhaps it’s because he wears a fez?
Either way we are stuck together until my glue dries and he drops off. And he’s got me wondering what other strangely attired beasts burn on bulbs that hide beneath demure shades. What other primates flash sixty watt smiles. He’s got me wanting to slip into other homes and draw snakes and tigers and jellyfish onto the light fixtures of strangers. I want to know that someone somewhere is turning on a secret hummingbird at sundown.